An Unexpected Outing
by the real snape
Summary: Rolanda enjoys some quiet quality time in Paris. A trip down memory lane, really. Only, in that lovely old bookshop it isn't her past, it is her future she meets. Set during OotP.
1. A fun adventure

**Warnings:** Parisian traffic, a Room with a View, and a Peeves cameo.  
**Author's Notes:** Potterverse research has shown that Hooch arguably came of age in the Roaring Twenties. And McGonagall, as we all know, in the Fightin' Forties. Two different worlds, even if the location is the same.

Also as every femslasher knows, if you're looking for representation in fiction, you have to rely on subtext and your imagination. And in some cases, it doesn't take much imagination ...

And of course, without my two brilliant betas there wouldn't be a story at all. Thank you, Kellychambliss and Tetleybag!

**Paris, July 1995**

"Come on," Rolanda Hooch muttered fervently. "You can do it, you know you can! Just a few inches, just … yes! … Oh, damn. Near miss!"

She had always enjoyed watching Muggle traffic, especially in big cities. A triumph of optimism over reality, that's what it was. And it was fun, too, to observe how Muggles reacted when things go wrong. Today, however, she hadn't been lucky. She'd had great hopes for the young man she'd been observing for the last minute or so. Surely, reading a newspaper in a Parisian traffic jam was asking for trouble? But he had avoided the collision by less than half an inch. With the innate ability of Parisian drivers … Rolanda took a good look at the rather battered car and amended that thought to 'Through a long process of trial and error...'

She leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. It was still fun to watch. A cyclist blithely overtook the cars. The drivers scowled. Funny, how some gestures are used in every country, by Muggles and Wizards alike, she thought. Now, what shall I do next? A stroll along the Seine? A terrace in the Marais? Some shopping? That's it! I could do with another book anyhow, and it's always such a pleasure to go back. Not that I'm really going back - the old Shakespeare and Co. closed in … when was it? Somewhere during the Grindelwald days. Still, the new shop is every bit as nice …

As Rolanda strolled along the Left Bank, she thought about her first proper visit to Paris.

**Paris, 1923**

All of Paris seemed to be sizzling. It was in the air, in the clothes, in the way the women held their absurdly long cigarette-holders. And to Rolanda, it had been perfectly clear that more sizzling was going on in places quite different from the sedate tearooms she'd been allowed to visit on the well-chaperoned, thoroughly guided trip for Girls of Nice Families on which her family had sent her after she left Hogwarts. There's a far more interesting Paris, she had thought, and someday soon I'll go and see it.

That 'someday soon' had come at last, and with her first professional earnings, she'd rented a cheap room in a small hotel. But it seemed to her, as she strolled around the shop-lined streets on the Left Bank, that it would take a particularly complicated Portkey to find the sizzle.

In the end, she decided to go to the funny little English bookshop she'd seen before - might at least have something decent to read, she thought.

As soon as she entered Shakespeare and Co., however, she realised that it wasn't just any bookshop. It looked more like a meeting place of some kind - a café that happened to have books as well. As she was staring at the interesting-looking - customers? Patrons? What _was_ this place? - an earnest young man sidled up to her and started explaining, in careful, heavily accented English. These were writers, he said. Famous ones, too. He knew them all. Over there was Gertrude. She actually had a _Salon_, at the rue de Fleurus.

Well, so does my mum, Rolanda thought. Everyone has a sitting room, right? But she felt that it might somehow be the wrong thing to say.

"And over there? You see him? He is Ernest," the young man added in a respectful whisper. By then, Rolanda had decided that her self-appointed guide was not just earnest himself, but rather pompous, too. And very knowledgeable indeed, which was why she accepted his invitation to dinner. And she wasn't disappointed. As soon as she mentioned her wish to see the Parisian nightlife, he took her out to a jazz-club that was mind-blowing.

The first evening, she was content to sit with Ernest-by-nature, and listen to his name-dropping. "That's Kiki - she is the Queen of Montparnasse, you know. And that man she is dancing with - he is a photographer. They are lovers."

The second evening he took her to a club with such an odd name that she didn't dare ask for an explanation. After careful consultation of her dictionary, she found that _Le boeuf sur le toit_ did, indeed, mean 'the ox on the roof'. "They do the … what do you call it … jam session. This is _faire le boeuf_ in French," André had told her.

There, she spent part of the time dutifully listening to André, by now reduced to "this is the Charleston", and by pondering the old 'how many dinners before you're a cock-tease' problem.

And an increasingly large part of the time, she danced.

And then she met Nini.

**Paris, July 1995**

Rolanda grinned at the memory of Nini. She had immediately known that Nini was a witch. And Nini had immediately known something Rolanda herself was only half aware of at the time. It had not been André's lucky week.

As she pushed open the familiar green door, she thought back to those effervescent days and nights spent in the bookshop, in the jazz-clubs, at a Surrealist Ball in Montmartre, and in Nini's bed. All of Paris, and her own blood as well, seemed to be made of champagne. And somehow, going to, or even thinking of, Shakespeare and Co. made it all come back.

A pleasurable fifteen minutes later, she took up her little pile of books and started to make her way to the cashier, who was enthroned in book-lined splendour opposite the doors. As Rolanda paused to look at another crime novel, she noticed a woman standing with her back to her, browsing the 'Classics' section. She was slender, with somewhat severely piled-up hair, but a very elegant coat and lovely shoes, Rolanda noticed. Not too high heeled, but beautiful. And those ankles... and legs... oh, Merlin. Thank heaven for Muggle clothes and Parisian elegance.

And for the human ability to daydream.

Just look at those ankles … one could caress them … for a very long time, and then, slowly, tantalizingly, move up … and up … Alas, the days of frenzied balls, where people did just that, were over. It had been, more or less, Nini's opening gambit. Rolanda's arm, not her ankle, though – Quidditch pros were best described as 'sturdy'.

Is it Paris, Rolanda thought, or the memories of those Roaring Twenties, or this shop... or those legs? Face it, Hooch, if there _was_ such a thing as a horizontal surface in here, you'd want to shag her right through it. She grinned. Well, a girl could dream. Now let's imagine that she turns around and ...

The woman in the elegant coat finally selected a book, turned around, and nearly made Rolanda choke. Minerva McGonagall!

Prim, proper, stern, impossibly duty-bound Professor McGonagall.

Ye gods. What had she been thinking? Could one see it in her face? Was Minerva a Legilimens? Was this a constructive thought? Damage control, Hooch, now.

Briefly, she considered the idea that Minerva might welcome the idea of - well, not of shagging in that exceedingly cramped bookshop, but of a closer relationship. After all, they knew each other's preferences, as they knew the preferences of all their colleagues on the small staff of Hogwarts. The fact remained that this was _Deputy Headmistress_ McGonagall. Her boss. It might make working relationships awfully strained if Minerva didn't want ... And how many jobs were there where a woman was paid - handsomely - to fly a broom? Once she was past the professional players' sell-by date?

"Hello, Minerva," she managed, sounding only slightly out of breath. "I didn't know you were in Paris, too. What brings you here?"

"Oh, this and that," Minerva answered. She was intentionally vague, Rolanda realised. Order business, then, most likely.

"I had to settle some things with Beauxbatons," Minerva continued, "and decided to spend a bit of time in Paris."

"Yes, too good an opportunity to miss," Rolanda answered. "How long do you plan to stay?" With relief she noticed that she was, in fact, managing a decent colleague-to-colleague conversation. Even her body began to realise that it wasn't about to get very lucky.

"Oh, a few hours, I thought," Minerva replied. Quickly, Rolanda focused on the conversation again. A few hours of what? Shopping? Bloody hell, Minerva actually meant that her entire stay in Paris was just a few hours. Then what was going on in the Order?

"Why's that? So short, I mean? Is it … no, sorry, shouldn't ask, of course." Rolanda looked contrite.

"Oh, it's not Order business, not all of it. But there's quite a bit of admin work; we really need to organise things properly now. And then there's the winding up of the tournament, the preparations for next year, Cedric's parents, and..."

"And Dumbledore, what's he doing?" Rolanda asked, feeling suddenly fiercely protective. Crazy, of course. Minerva definitely didn't need protecting. Arguably not even from Dumbledore – his reflexes _were_ slowing down.

"Travelling, mostly. Talking. Making useful contacts." The last bit almost seemed an afterthought. As if Minerva realised the difference between his workload and hers and thought it disloyal to continue along those lines. How much of that insane workload is actually ordered by Dumbledore, Rolanda wondered, and how much do you take upon you, simply because you see that it needs doing? Perhaps the one you should be protected from is yourself.

"Come on," she heard herself say. "Take a day off. Let's go out together." She stared at the book in Minerva's hands. A cheap pocket edition, with a picture of a Muggle film she had watched recently. _A Room with a View_, it was called.

"Let's have an adventure," she added, remembering a line from the film. When she saw Minerva's exquisitely arched eyebrow, she realised just what she had said. The Order, You-Know-Who's return, a student who had died during the Tournament... Last thing Min needed was another adventure. "A fun adventure," she said hastily.

"A... _fun_... adventure?" Minerva somehow managed stretch the word _fun_ into several syllables, thus classifying it in the same category as 'a laid-back elf', 'a giggling Snape', or even 'a lovely chat with the Dark Lord'.

"Fun," Rolanda stated firmly. She grabbed Minerva's book, paid for it along with her own purchases, and pushed her out on the pavement before either of them had time to have second thoughts.

"You're just going to have a pleasant day. See it as an unexpected outing," she grinned.

"An unexpected... outing?"

When she saw Minerva smile almost flirtatiously, she realised just what she had said. Dammit, Hooch, that's the second time in five minutes. Great way with words you have today.

"Make of that what you want," she added, almost gruffly.

"I will!" Minerva replied fervently. "Have a day off, I mean," she added hastily.

They looked at the books on the pavement at the traffic, at the cherry trees opposite the bookshop, and at the Notre-Dame, almost golden in the warm sunlight. Then, when it became unavoidable, at each other. Suddenly, they both laughed.

"Right," Rolanda said. "Let's stroll around for a bit. Do some Muggle window-shopping. Did you buy those shoes here, by the way?"

"Oh, no. Well, sort of. I mean … I never really buy Muggle clothes. I just get one of their fashion magazines, look what sort of thing they're wearing, and then I Transfigure my own things."

"You Transfigure … you mean you made that yourself? And that coat? Merlin's balls, you could put Madam Malkin out of business anytime!"

Minerva smiled at the compliment. "Well, I do enjoy dressing up. But in our world – one's never really off duty."

"And in Muggle clothes you can be as dashing as you like," Rolanda nodded, understanding. "You're right, of course. Come on, let's go towards the Boul'Mich. And tell me, how did you find out about Shakespeare and Co.?"

**A/N **As usual, will post on Sundays


	2. A Room with a View

**Paris, 1943**

All of Paris seemed to be waiting. Waiting for the food rations, for the clothes coupons, for the soup kitchens, for the coal rations. For spring, which would at least stop the waiting-for-coals. And you didn't have to queue up to wait for spring. But then, the queuing-for-clothes would become desperate, especially for those with growing children. All these waits ought to seem small, petty things compared to the great one: Waiting for the War to End. But it seemed to Minerva, as she queued at a _boulanger_, as if those small waits absorbed all the energy they had. Waiting for the War to End was a bit like waiting for heaven –it's just not something you'll see in _this_ life.

Which was, of course, entirely the wrong way of thinking. They had to stay positive and fight hard. Well, she'd done the hard fighting for the day – it had consisted of waiting for a French wizard who needed important papers and a few vital potions, "too important to trust to anyone else but you, my dear," Dumbledore had said. Now that the job was done, she'd indulge in a little bit of staying positive.

When she had collected her ration of half a _baguette_ – as they still called it, though the greyish colour was a far-off cry from the real thing, or so she was told – she made her way to the rue de l'Odéon. After all she had read about the famous bookshop, she'd go and have a look herself. Perhaps even buy a book. Remind herself that one day she actually might visit Paris as a tourist.

But when she found herself in front of number 12, she realised that that small ambition was beyond 'waiting' stage. She was simply too late. Shakespeare and Co. had closed; to judge from the amount of dust and cobwebs on the empty shelves, quite some time ago. She stared through the grimy windows, tried to imagine what it looked like when it was filled with books and famous authors, and failed to do so.

And one of these days, she thought, either Grindelwald or those idiot Muggles will destroy this city as well. Better not waste my time waiting to be a tourist.

*********

Paris, July 1995

"Well," Minerva said, "that was my first visit, as you might call it. Years later I heard that another shop had opened, under the same name. It was … I don't know how to put it, really … it was like … needing to learn about normal life. Even if it was years after the War. I had to go there to convince myself that this was, indeed, the normal life we had waited for. That even that shop was back. You see, I was fifteen when the War started. I went straight from school to Albus's Resistance. I really had no idea what normal life was … or what to do with it... does that make any sense?"

"Yes, in a way it does," Rolanda replied carefully. "It's just something I never realised. It was different for us - for me. I had known real life, normal life." And a rather wild life, too, she thought, but this isn't the moment to brag about that.

"I mean – I knew exactly what it was I wanted back – and that it _could_ exist, too. For you, it must have been..."

She didn't finish her phrase. What is it like, she thought, if you spend your formative years being formed by a war? Suddenly, the duty-bound side of Min didn't seem so impossible. If you haven't known anything but duty and endless waiting …, she thought. You got out of that war, but did the war ever get out of you? And did you go back today to convince yourself that this, your _third_ fight as a member of that effing Order, will pass, too?

Suddenly, she took Minerva's arm and pressed it against her. "Let's have a lovely day," she said.

*********

"This really was a lovely day," Minerva sighed contentedly as they were waiting for their main course. "I adored that street artist. You're right, it _is_ fun to just stay and listen. And those macarons were a delight."

"So is this dinner," Rolanda said, tucking into the plate that was put before her. "There's nothing like French food."

"Well, what I also look forward to is the coffee. At Hogwarts it's dreadful." Minerva crinkled her nose in distaste. "I've experimented with Transfiguration, you know."

"Really?" Rolanda looked up, hopefully. "And?"

"On my best days, I manage a decent French cup. Italian, though, really _is_ an art form."

Rolanda grinned. "So you've been to Italy?" she asked.

"To Florence and Siena, a few times."

"Is that why you bought the book? _A Room with a View_, I mean? I've not read it, but I've seen the film."

"So did I! That's why I wanted to read it. Actually, I hope there's a bit less about the young couple and a bit more about Charlotte and Eleanor."

"Oh, Merlin, yes! For me, that's the real story. I wish they made the whole film about them. But that's just it: if you want a good love story between women, you mostly have to look for …for …"

"Subtext," Minerva supplied.

"That's the word! And there's plenty of it in that film. You know, I really feel that those two would be so _good_ for each other. Charlotte can be beyond irritating, but she's level-headed and will keep Eleanor out of real trouble, and Eleanor would show Charlotte how to live a little. Less of the guide-book."

"Oh, Eleanor would!" Minerva suddenly blushed. "I hope you didn't think _me_ too much of a Baedeker – what with dragging you to that church and going on about Delacroix?"

"You were not! I'd never found those frescos on my own, and you were right, they're spectacular. And you're not in the least like a guide book. You really are a wonderful teacher, Min. When you explain something, it's just fascinating. I could listen for hours."

I could, Rolanda realised. And I want to. And I want all sorts of other things, too. You're not stern and proper at all, you're just … lovely. And funny. And you _do_ know how to enjoy yourself – all you need is someone to remind you that it's _allowed_. I want to be your Eleanor. And you're a bit of a perfectionised Charlotte – none of the irritating mannerisms, but sometimes, you look just as vulnerable. Still, you're strong enough to keep me from flying too high …

She looked at Minerva, and for one, brief moment, she thought that she saw her own desires reflected in Min's eyes.

_"Vous avez terminé?"_ asked the waiter, who had suddenly materialised. _"Vous désirez un café?"_

_"Non, merci,"_ they both said, simultaneously.

Rolanda smiled. "I thought you wanted a real French coffee?" she tried, carefully trying to find a balance between encouraging Min to go further and leaving her an option to back out.

She was delighted to see a smile that was … yes, saucy!

"It's a matter of priorities," Min answered, and asked for the bill.

"I'll pay that," Rolanda insisted. "After all, I'm the one who seduced you to take the day off …" And this time, she didn't hide the longing in her voice.

*********

A small ray of sunlight managed to find its way through the Parisian chimney tops and into the room. Which didn't have much of a view – but then, we didn't need one, Rolanda thought, stretching herself carefully, so as not to wake Minerva. And the view I have right now...

She looked at Minerva's face, learning it by heart as if it was an unknown Quidditch field with which she had to get familiar before an important match. The fine lines around the eyes – mostly of laughter, she realised. Why did I ever think of you as stern? Or prim and proper? Suppressing the urge to kiss those lines –such soft skin, such an underrated spot for tenderness – she remembered the past night.

They had both been somewhat self-conscious while undressing. Rolanda was in pretty good shape, but twenty years older _was_ twenty years. The downside of having had the fun of the Twenties. And I might call myself _fit_, she thought, but that just ages me further. Our students wouldn't describe either of us as 'looking fit', not with the new meaning of the word. 'Not too bad, considering' is the best we may hope for. She grinned. Poor children. Ah, well, wisdom came with the years. So did experience. The young 'uns had a lot to look forward to. And if last night was anything to go by, so did she.

She remembered the passion. The mounting urgency. Min's lips, exploring her body. The familiar, thrilling sensation of soft breasts on her own. The utterly new sensation of long tresses of hair, tickling and caressing her skin. Min's hands exploring her. And finally those incredibly elegant, tapered fingers sliding inside her, pushing...

The sound of her soft moan had been enough to wake Minerva, Rolanda realised ruefully. Damn. Min deserved a bit of rest.

"Hi, sleepyhead," she whispered. At least now she could lean over and kiss that inviting spot. "Got a good night's sleep?"

"Got more than that," Minerva answered, stretching luxuriously. "I feel like the cat that got the cream." In answer to Rolanda's naughty smile, she added, "and I meant that dreadful pun."

"I'm glad you do," Rolanda murmured. "Now, do you have any plans for today? Would another day off be possible, you think?"

"Actually, yes," was the surprising answer. "But after that I really must get back to start on the rest of the work. But I thought … perhaps we could …"

"I'd love to see you whenever you're free," Rolanda replied quickly. "Don't look so uncertain, Min, please. Surely you don't think it's just summer in Paris that made me..."

"Made you _seduce_ me?" Minerva grinned.

"Made me lust after you. Made me want to make love to you even before you'd turned around in that shop. It's a good thing Hogwarts robes don't show your legs. Yesterday it was all those piles of books that stopped me, but in the Great Hall …"

Rolanda stopped as she saw Minerva's look change from amused back to worried again. "What is it, Min?" she asked gently.

"It's just that. Hogwarts. I mean, I want to spend time with you. If I'm quite honest – I know it's ridiculously early to say this, but – I hope that we …"

"So do I," Rolanda said, with a quick kiss. "But I see what you mean. The students. The colleagues – don't know who is worse, really. What we definitely don't need is for the whole bunch to watch our every move, to make encouraging jokes when things are working out."

"To _sympathise_ when things don't," Minerva added with a shudder. "I'd have to spend the rest of my life in Animagus form."

"Would Mrs. Norris sympathise?" Rolanda grinned.

"Are you joking? That cat doesn't have an empathetic bone in her body. Crookshanks might – in an appallingly hearty manner."

"Crookshanks?" Rolanda queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Miss Granger's … erm … cat. Quite something, he is. Never mind cats! It's our colleagues we have to worry about."

"You know, Min, I think we should just take our time. Keep a very low profile. In a few months, if we feel more … settled, it'll be early enough to let the staff know. Discreetly. And you know they'll keep mum about it. It's not as if they don't understand about the lack of privacy – we all suffer."

Rolanda looked at the fine, straight worry line between Minerva's eyebrows. Softly, with the tip of her finger, she massaged it away.

"You decide, Min. You know, as far as our colleagues are concerned, I really think it'll be just a nine-day wonder. After all, what with the return of You-Know-Who, people will have plenty on their minds. But as it is, during those nine days I can easily avoid everyone except for mealtimes – even then, if I really want to. It's different for you. Being Deputy Headmistress and all that. So you decide."

"Rolanda! That's so … so very …" Minerva stammered.

"Thoughtful?" Rolanda supplied. "Loving? Altruistic? You don't know how to thank me? Well, _that_ at least can be solved easily. I can think of a thing or two …" 


	3. Calmness and Control

**Hogwarts, November 15th**

"It had nothing to do with Wilhelmina!" Rolanda exclaimed furiously. "You wouldn't have stolen her thunder. It was just a goodbye drink, for crying out loud! It wasn't as if it was Filius's leaving party, or Pomona's! In that case, it would have been their very special day, and of course we shouldn't have upstaged them with _our_ news. But this was just a temporary colleague standing us a drink. If you didn't want to tell about us, that was because _you_ have a problem!"

She turned away, to regain some composure. Not the moment for a Chaser's attack, she thought. Don't say things you'll regret, Hooch. Stay calm. Stay in control.

She thought about the previous months. They had seen each other, frequently, before term started. Yes, they definitely were an 'item' by the first of September. But they had both felt that it was still early days and had not mentioned anything to their colleagues. Besotted they might be, fools they weren't. A mere six weeks was too soon to think in terms of 'forever after', so 'least said, soonest mended' seemed the prudent option. And it _was_ for Min to decide, who was nothing if not prudent.

Min's birthday, too, could have been considered as early days. After all, it was October 4th and barely ten weeks since that miraculous day in Paris. And Umbridge had just been made High Inquisitor. There was no saying what that would lead to, just the certainty that it was bad news. Better to wait and see how things would develop. The woman was medieval, and they could do without the whole 'Nobody doubts your _devotion_ to your students, but perhaps a lesbian who _openly_ lives with another woman is not the _best_ example for young, impressionable minds'. And given the comments in the other teachers' inspection reports, they could expect just that.

The inspection of Minerva's own classes had caused some strain, as well. The release of that strain, later, after Min's lengthy and highly entertaining rants on the subject, had been quite something, too. Min hadn't been gentle that night, and Rolanda had felt surprised, deliciously overpowered, carried away, and … wrong line of thought. Calmness and control, that was what she needed now.

She had hoped for the minor celebration of Gryffindor's first win. Curse Potter and the Weasleys. And Malfoy. And Umbridge. Curse the whole effing world.

She remembered with a sudden, piercing pain how gleeful Min had looked when she told Rolanda about the homework-free week for Gryffindor. "See?" Min had said, and suddenly Rolanda had known what Minerva had been like as a young girl. "Who said I couldn't have _fun_? I told them I want to keep that Cup in my office. How's that for irresponsible?" Rolanda had hugged her fiercely and had told her she was wonderful.

And then those boys had fought, and it had rained on Min's parade more effectively than any personal attack of the Umbridge could have done. There had been no celebration, and they remained firmly a couple, but firmly closeted as well.

That very day Hagrid had returned, and a week later Willa had left, after 'transferring her courses'. The staff had gathered at Rosmerta's for Willa's farewell do. And still Minerva had refused to go _with_ Rolanda, rather than coming and leaving carefully apart.

Which was today's big topic. To be discussed calmly. Slowly, Rolanda turned around.

"Min, I said it was for you to decide, and I still mean that. And I understand about That Woman, and the decrees, and the Ministry. What with Albus being away more often than not, the strain must be appalling. I _know_ it is. It's just … By now, I'm certain. Of what I feel, at least."

She briefly stared out of the window to gather her thoughts. Then she looked straight at Minerva and continued. "I love you. It's not just lust, it's not being _in_ love – I am, but it's not just that. I love the way you move, the way you undo your hair, the way you enjoy a good gossip, or a good wine, or a kiss. I love the way you imitate people, and the way you bite your nails when you feel shy and insecure. And I love that I'm the one you show that to. I even love your maddeningly irritating habit of tapping the cover of a book while you read."

She noticed that Minerva looked surprised. Didn't she realise she did that, then? Astonishing. Am I the first to tell you? Rolanda thought. The first who is _that_ close that she tells you? Clinging to that thought, she continued, "And I need …"

Commitment, she realised. I need commitment. And I don't want to use that elephant of a word. I don't want to have to use it. I don't even need the world to know about us, I just want you to … Dammit, woman, you're the centre of my life, and I need to feel that _I_ am that for you.

Minerva took two steps in her direction. Then she stopped. Her arms, poised to embrace Rolanda, dropped limply by her sides.

"That's just about the best thing anyone ever said to me," she whispered. "And I feel … you are … I want …

"It's not about you. Or us. It's the war. No, not really; it _is_ the war, in a way, but I could deal with that. I've been there before. It scares me like hell, and part of me wants to keep you a secret because I'm an Order member. Because he might go after you for that. But it's not just that."

Rolanda saw Min swallow a few times. Painfully honest, as always, she thought. It's yet another thing I love about you. Your total honesty, even with yourself. I'm just not sure that I can deal with it now.

Minerva took a deep breath. "It's the future. The idea of it. I can't see what … how … if … it would work, or …"

A Bludger, Rolanda thought. The Bludger that broke my arm. That had felt … no, not the same. Much less painful, in fact. Face it, Hooch. She can't see a future with you. Rolanda felt anger rise within her like liquid fire. Took you almost six months to find that out? Six months of keeping me on a string, of making me love you, a bit more every day. And now you … She took a deep breath, the better to say it with. Scream it with.

The last vestiges of her Quidditch years kept her from doing so. Calmness, she thought. Control. Don't fly up like a demented bat, Hooch, determine your position first. You know she can be stern. And difficult. You've had brooms that were more flexible. You still want her. Don't do anything irreparable. Determine your position first.

"You'll have to think about that, Min," she finally said. "So will I."

She made for the door before either of them could say another word.


	4. On Chandeliers and Related Issues

**Hogwarts, early May**

Rolanda hung the last broom on its hooks. That was the storage room cleared out. Spotless, she thought. The upside of living in limbo. I suddenly have a neat storage room, an office where everything is archived and ordered within an inch of its life, and private quarters that look like an advertisement on how the house-proud witch should live. It's amazing what you can accomplish in all those hours you're not spending with Min.

Slowly, she walked towards the castle. I'm still glad, she thought, I left when I did, that night of Wilhelmina's party. That we managed to avoid that screaming row. We would have been history months ago if I had let that happen. Now at least we're still a couple. Things could still work out, Rolanda told herself. It wasn't Minerva's feelings for her, or a lack thereof, that made them spend less time together. Rather, it was the hectic, make that crazy, year they were going through. And the need - Minerva's need - to keep their relationship a secret still.

At least Rolanda knew that it wasn't the idea of a future together in itself that scared Minerva. When they had talked, the next day (and Rolanda had argued, in a calm and controlled manner, until she was blue in the face) it had transpired that Minerva simply couldn't see how it would all work out.

Living more or less together at Hogwarts – but in shared rooms? Sneaking into each other's rooms, "like first-years!" Rolanda had said scornfully. At which point Min had seriously explained just how the houses were charmed to avoid that very thing, and that she sincerely hoped the _first_ years wouldn't have found the various lovers' lanes yet. Rolanda had wanted to slap her and hug her then.

"And how about … you will retire sooner than I," Minerva had continued. "And I really must live in the school. Of course, there are many relationships where people live apart for large periods of time, due to work, and they're none the worse for that, but would it work for us? I'd hate the idea of not being near you," and for quite some time option had followed option with all the pros and cons.

Rolanda understood much of it. The revelation in Paris had given her a new and deep understanding of what lay behind Minerva's caution, her desire (and undisputed talent) for organization and control. You didn't have anything approaching normality until you were in your twenties, Rolanda thought. And then there was already such a burden of loss and grief to carry along. Now that you've created this place for yourself, you'll do anything to keep it. You simply can't let go and see what happens. You're willing to risk your life, for your school, for your students, for me. Yes, you'd do that. But the idea of risking your safe harbour scares you shitless.

And I can understand that. I know that you need to have some clear idea of the future. Of what it will look like. And until I came along, you had just that. Be Deputy Headmistress, and then, one day, Headmistress. After that, a retirement cottage, time for research, and perhaps some publications in _Transfiguration Today_, as well as long walks, visits to the theatre, and reading. She smiled as she remembered Minerva's outspoken comments on Rolanda's suggestion that she might be asked to serve on a Government Committee on Education or some such. "Do you really think that my idea of a peaceful retirement is to join anything that has _meetings_?" Min had said, and her description of some of the Hogwarts committee meetings and Min's thoughts while attending had made Rolanda laugh until her sides ached.

Carefully, she steered her thoughts back to Minerva's reluctance to announce their relationship to their colleagues. As things had been, Minerva had had a perfectly safe and assured future at Hogwarts. As things were, she still had that, and a loving and ever deepening relationship as well. And if that relationship wouldn't work out in the end, there would be the discomfort of continuing to work with Rolanda, but if nobody had known about it in the first place, she'd at least be spared the gossiping and unbearably kind tact of the whole staff. Outwardly at least, her safe harbour wouldn't change.

"You'll have to risk it, Min," Rolanda had said. "At some point, you'll just have to risk it." She had carefully avoided the words "Gryffindor courage", and was glad for that.

"I know," Minerva had said. "But it's not just that one risk. There's Dolores and her insane ideas. Worse, there's the Ministry behind her. Where is Hogwarts going to, at this rate? What if they come with orders I'd have to refuse? I could leave, but that would mean leaving the students...

"And there's You-Know-Who. I'm an Order member; if people know about us, he might try to use you as leverage. He might succeed, too. I'd do anything to keep you safe - but what if he uses you to make me do things to students? How could I live with that?"

All in all, Rolanda thought, there were just too many ifs and whens to live with - for Minerva, at least. Rolanda herself rather felt that, in the midst of so much insecurity, there was simply no planning ahead or control possible. The only thing to do was to live by the day. And to enjoy what they had together, and take that forward at least. She had said so. But Minerva, who had learned to crave normality at an age where young people should crave change, simply couldn't do it. And Rolanda did understand that. Truly, she did.

What I can't do, won't do, she thought, is go along with it. I _do_ need commitment. You'll have to admit that your life has changed. That it's _us_ now. And you'll have to do it soon. And on your own; I won't beg for it. I'm willing to compromise, I'm willing to understand, but I can't stop being me. Not at my age. Not even for you.

So now she was in limbo, waiting. First it had been the decree that teachers were not allowed to give information beyond lessons. Then, and Rolanda had fully understood that one, the frantic, worried days after the attack on Arthur. Then Dumbledore had left, if one could call it that, and Min had insisted on getting some stability back in the school before "indulging in any navel-staring about my personal life."

By now the excuses were running thin, and they both knew it. True, the career counselling sessions did take up a lot of time. But that doesn't mean, Rolanda thought savagely, that you can't think about what should be the most important thing in your life. And yet, once again, she hadn't forced Min. Hadn't even gone near the point of no return. You'll spend your life waiting, you fool, she had thought. And had said nothing.

Last week, the Weasley Twins had left – Rolanda, who had always been partial to those excellent flyers and players, much more so than her colleagues, thought of them in capitals now. That had been the one truly joyful moment in the last few months. What an exit. What a show.

And then they had discovered the Portable Swamp, and even Filius had been impressed by the spellwork. "I knew they could be brilliant – when they bothered – but I didn't know they were capable of _this_. I'd mark it with an 'O'."

That was where Minerva had surprised Rolanda. Predictably enough, she had started with "Filius, how _can_ you say that?" In such a Headmistressy tone that even Pomona had sat up straight. Rolanda, too, had felt that brief, long-forgotten 'thank Merlin it's not _me_ she's after' feeling from her own school days.

"It's an 'O' star, with recommendation, at the very least. In fact, they should get a School Trophy," Min had chuckled – yes, chuckled.

That had been two days ago, and Rolanda had had high hopes of change being in the air. But she had barely seen Minerva since, not even in the Great Hall. Which was were she was heading now. Dinner, she thought, and an early night in my spotless room. My bleak, barren, spotless room. Would a bottle of Ogden's Old add a bit of a lived-in feeling?

As she hurried along the corridor, she noticed several students looking up in an amused manner. She followed their looks. Peeves was trying to unscrew the big, crystal chandelier. I wish him luck, Rolanda thought, that thing is an eyesore. The students hurried towards the Hall. There was Ron Weasley. Not a patch on his brothers, but he had his moments. About once in a decade, though, a bit like the Chudley Cannons. Their slogan, 'let's all keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best', would fit Gryffindor, too, now. And I even hope they win, woman, for your sake. Can't you at least appreciate that?

"Sorry, Madam Hooch."

Potter, who hurried past her to catch up with Weasley. And past Minerva, who had appeared as well, and headed purposefully towards Peeves. Rolanda smiled ruefully. The eyesore would stay, after all. Minerva would tell him … she stopped to listen.

"It unscrews the other way."

Peeves stopped.

Potter stopped.

Time stopped.

Potter was the first to react. He scuttled away as fast as he could. Sensible lad.  
Peeves was the second. He looked at the chandelier, at Professor McGonagall, at the chandelier again, closed his mouth, and started unscrewing the right way.

Finally, Rolanda moved towards Min. Who looked at her in a way that outdid every firework the Weasleys ever created. Rolanda fought the urge to yell, yodel, turn somersaults, and kiss Min senseless.

Taking a deep breath, she managed, "Do you think you should be doing that, at your age?"

"Should have done it months ago. Weeks ago, at least. Am I too late? Can you ..." Minerva looked around for long enough to notice a new batch of students, heading for the Hall. "My rooms, tonight, please!" she whispered.

Rolanda nodded fervently. A kingdom for a bit of privacy, she thought. If I say a word now, I'll start blubbing and we'll have another swamp.

Quickly, briefly, she grasped Min's hand before she hurried to the Hall.

At least the Umbridge isn't here, Rolanda thought, looking round the table. Since The Weasleys –and the Swamp - That Woman preferred to eat in her rooms. It was a small mercy.

She tried to get some food down; it wouldn't do at all for the staff to notice that something was going on. It was more than enough that Minerva had clearly reached some favourable decision about the two of them. No need to advertise things.

Aurora asked a question about next years' curriculum. Something to do with Firenze's notions about stars and her own lessons. How, in Merlin's name, did Minerva manage to look truly interested and concerned? And to answer? Rolanda forced herself to listen. What she heard took her breath away.

"Of course," Min said, "if Firenze continues to give the Divination lessons, or part of them, we must look again at possible overlaps. But I think that the curriculum won't be truly relevant until we've decided, all of us, whether there will be a next term."

She then calmly observed the collected gasps and near-chokes of her colleagues.

"Has no-one thought about that, yet?" she queried. "On the positive side, there is always the chance that the DADA jinx will work once again, and that we'll somehow be rid of the High Inquisitor. On the downside, that does not automatically imply that we will be rid of Ministry interference, though we could hardly get anyone worse. And there is a possibility that Dolores will be impervious to the jinx – so far, all affected teachers were human."

She got a round of nervous giggles on that one and smiled back. "I don't know about you," she continued, outwardly calm, but Rolanda by now knew the little signs of emotion when she saw them. "But I don't intend to let this go any further. We've had those ludicrous inspections, she's tried – and will probably succeed – to sack several colleagues, and she's forbidden all organizations, where students learnt vital skills such as working together and organizing. And now she hasn't only stopped us from doing any teaching outside lessons, but she's obstructing the students' future careers as well. She positively threatened Potter … I mean, what's the point of a school that aims to _stop_ students having a career?"

"That's true," Filius burst out. "She sat in on my session with Miss Lovegood and practically said that she would thwart her ambitions to study Care of Magical Creatures – simply because Xenophilius publishes the truth about You-Know-Who and Potter."

"Well, that's it," Minerva said. "She's done it cleverly – one slice at the time. But by now, quite frankly, Hogwarts is no longer what a school should be. And if we continue, we'll all just be the Ministry's minions. So I intend to oppose her forcefully, and should that fail, I'll resign."

"You can't! The danger! You could get hurt!" Predictably, that was Poppy.

"Hardly hurt. You don't really think that the Ministry would physically attack Hogwarts teachers? It would cause a scandal. A public outcry. As far as I can see, the only real risk is that they'll try to come up with a reason to send me to Azkaban – membership of an illegal organization or some such notion."

"Professor, no! Ye can't mean that. Ye'll have ter excuse me for saying it, Ma'am, but ye don't know what it's like."

Hagrid this time, and Rolanda only had to watch his face, paling beneath the ruddy outdoors glow, to get a very fair idea of what Azkaban _was_ like.

"As with Albus, they'll have to catch me first. Ever tried outrunning a cat? Who knows _every stone_ of this castle?"

Not even a tremor, Rolanda realised, just a deepening of Min's voice. But it spoke volumes. This is breaking your heart, she thought. That's why I hardly saw you last week; you had this on your mind. And now you are willing to turn your whole world upside down, to risk your safe place.

She'd given up all pretence of eating. Her colleagues, she noticed, still made valiant efforts. Filius carefully and lengthily chewed a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Pomona cut a pea in halves, then in quarters. Aurora drank her wine, put her glass down, and started on Irma's. Only Severus continued his meal as if no landslide had taken place.

Then, at last, the main course disappeared, and the pudding showed up. I might manage a spoonful or two of custard, Rolanda thought. And then I'll disappear before the coffee and wait for you in your rooms, as usual. The fact that there was an 'as usual' again was the one miraculously good thing to come out of all that heartbreak. Rolanda took up her spoon, determined to give nothing away, to save Min that additional embarrassment at least.

Minerva cleared her throat. "I'll hope you'll excuse us," she said, slightly louder than usual. "Rolanda and I will skip coffee. In fact, I think we'll skip the pudding, too. If I resign, we'll have a lot of decisions to make about our future together; we could do with a quiet evening to discuss that."

"Min!" Rolanda gasped. "You don't have to..." She swallowed the rest of the phrase, inwardly cursing herself for letting it out in the first place.

"I hardly think skipping Hogwarts coffee is much of a sacrifice," Minerva remarked in a mildly amused tone. She looked around the table. Rolanda followed her eyes.

"You do that," said a beaming Aurora. Beaming? Rolanda thought. So you _knew_?

"We'll keep Umbridge out of your hair," Filius added. It was the most unobtrusive high five Rolanda had ever seen, but a high five he made. She smiled ruefully. So much for keeping a secret in this place, she thought. And there we were, thinking that our dear colleagues were still in the dark.

"We'll consult her about our lessons if we have to," added Pomona, embracing them both in one wide smile.

"And if consulting her doesn't help," Severus added, with his blankest, most inscrutable voice, "I'll _flirt_ with her!"

The surprised laugh he got with that was enough to get them away from the High Table and out of the Great Hall. Which was why he had made that completely outrageous statement in the first place, a dazed Rolanda realised as she followed Minerva up the stairs. He wanted to give us – give Min- an easy exit.

But by then they had reached their rooms, and Minerva closed the door firmly behind them.


End file.
